


with every drop of rain singing

by televangelists



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, canon compliant catra character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/televangelists/pseuds/televangelists
Summary: The words that Catra didn’t speak weigh her down like stones in her stomach, but she ignores them. She vows never to say them out loud, never to let them even cross her mind again.It's just one of many promises that end up broken.[Five times Catra didn't say "I love you," and one time she did.]
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 148





	with every drop of rain singing

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by this amazing [ drawing](https://twitter.com/voreday88/status/1273451661567000579?s=12) by twitter user VOREDAY88 and written while i was listening to this catradora [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1C4BpcPQbbFPx74KXQtULC?si=1GMrOVhrQyyMuRXaDJ8FXQ)
> 
> [disclaimer: this fic is canon compliant but not all of the dialogue is one hundred percent true to canon]

I couldn't utter my love when it counted  
Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now  
I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted  
Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

\- Hozier, from _Shrike_

i. / denial

Catra’s hand stings.

She’s sitting behind a pile of dusty boxes in one of the Fright Zone’s many storage rooms, her back pressed against the cold wall, the taint of metal and fear strong in the air around her. The boxes block her vision, hemming her in, but Catra doesn’t care. She leans her head back and raises one hand to the dim light, looks at the purple-red bruise spreading across it.

It stings, yes, but that’s beside the point. Pain is nothing new to her - living in the Fright Zone has conditioned her to accept it, to ignore it. Her hand will heal in time. 

What’s less easier to ignore is the reason her hand stings in the first place.

Everything had been alright twenty minutes ago. They had all been playing in the bunkroom, laughing and play-fighting. Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio. Catra’s friends, if she could call them that.

And Adora. Catra’s friend. Catra’s everything.

Catra hisses at the thought of Adora, forces herself to replay the memory. Adora, next to her, on top of her, the two of them playfully wrestling across the floor. Adora, pinning her to the floor with the childish strength of youth. Adora, leaving her the second Lonnie called across to them.

“Hey, Adora! Come play with us too!”

Adora’s smile had widened, and she’d rolled right off Catra, heading towards the cluster of cadets near Lonnie’s bunk. Lonnie had grinned, reached out an arm to pull her in, laughed with her. And Catra - 

Catra had watched Adora roll away, feeling a strange sensation in her chest. It was like metal in a forge, hot and sharp and bitter, and she didn’t like it one bit. She had forced herself to keep watching as Adora threw back her head and laughed, her smile just as bright as it was with Catra. 

Even though Adora was only ten feet away, Catra felt like she’d been left behind. And she couldn’t take that. 

So Catra had launched herself across the room to where Lonnie and Adora were, and punched Lonnie in the face, the skin on her hand splitting open, hot blood dripping along her fingers as Lonnie fell backwards with her mouth wide open in surprise. And then Catra had run.

And now here she is, hiding in the storeroom, part of her praying that Adora finds her and another part of her praying that Adora doesn’t come after her.

Her prayers are answered, one way or another. As Catra cowers behind the boxes, there’s the sound of footsteps outside the door, bare skin against metal floor, the steps light and uncertain.

“Catra?” Adora calls out questioningly, and Catra squeezes her eyes shut. The sound of Adora’s voice both hurts and heals the strange wound in Catra’s chest. 

She looks out over the tops of the boxes, just for a moment, and it’s enough to see Adora standing in the middle of the room, her expression confused. Catra narrows her eyes and ducks down again, her tail lashing against one of the boxes before she can stop it.

Adora turns at the faint noise, her face relieved now. “Catra,” she says again, and then she’s pushing the boxes aside, sitting down next to Catra. “What are you doing here?”

“Go away,” Catra says, glaring at her. Adora’s eyes widen with some emotion. Hurt, Catra thinks. 

“You can come back and play,” Adora says, taking her hand. Catra tries to pull away, but she can’t. “I talked to Lonnie. It’s okay. She’s over it.”

Catra wants to scream. Of course Adora had to talk to Lonnie. Of course she had to make everything alright. It would never be alright, not to Catra.

“Hey,” Adora says softly. “Why’d you have to hit her? We were all having fun. You didn’t have to do it.”

“Go away,” Catra repeats, her eyes burning with tears now. She blinks them back, refusing to let Adora see her cry. “Why don’t you go talk to Lonnie? Your new best friend?” 

Catra wanted those last words to come out sarcastic, but they just sound broken to her.

Adora’s expression softens. “Is that why you hit her?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Catra says, her voice cracking a little. “You can’t leave me. You’re the only one who cares about me.”

“I am your friend,” Adora says reassuringly. “I’ll always be your friend. You look after me and I look after you. That’s how this works.”

Catra wants to believe her. Hope starts bleeding through her chest, replacing the anger and hurt. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Adora says, pressing herself against Catra and wrapping an arm around her. This time, Catra doesn’t fight it. 

They stay that way for a moment, Catra looking at Adora and taking in her grey eyes and kind expression and messy blonde hair. A new feeling starts rising up in Catra now, warm and sort of comfortable, yet electric and dangerous at the same time. And if she had to put to words what it felt like, she might almost say it was - 

Growing up in the Fright Zone has made sure that none of them know love. The closest Catra has ever gotten is a warm flare in her chest when Shadow Weaver gives her a rare compliment, the soft way she feels when she wakes up in the same bed as Adora, the occasional rush of good feeling she sometimes gets when everyone is playing together in the same room. And yet right here, in this moment with Adora, Catra thinks that she might understand what love really is.

Adora gently smooths Catra’s ears back and Catra lets her, never wanting Adora to stop touching her. It’s all ruined the next moment though, because Adora just has to be herself.

“Can you come and say you’re sorry?” she asks, hand still resting on Catra’s head. “To Lonnie, I mean? I think it would be really nice for her.”

Catra ducks out from underneath Adora’s touch, pushes the other girl away from her hard, boxes toppling down around the two of them. She swipes at Adora, not caring that her claws come out as she does so, almost wanting Adora to hurt so that she’ll finally know what Catra feels like almost all the time.

“I won’t,” Catra snaps, on her feet now, looking down at Adora. Looking down at her, but still feeling smaller than her, somehow.“I won’t do it.

Adora’s face is an open book, a mix of shock and confusion clear in her expression. “Why, Catra? Why can’t you just apologize to her?”

 _Because she’s taking you away from me,_ Catra wants to say. _Because I won’t be able to stand it if you ever leave me. Because -_

_Because I think -_

Catra blinks hard.

_I think I love -_

Adora’s still looking to her for an answer.

_I love -_

The words are right there in Catra’s mouth, on the tip of her tongue, burning her throat - 

But she forces them down, swallows them whole, buries them inside of herself. She lashes out at Adora again, scratching her this time. “I’ll never say sorry to anyone!” she yells, then turns and runs down the hallway. 

She looks back once, just as she’s rounding the corner, to see Adora sitting there on the floor, her face bleeding now, puzzled and hurt.

The words that Catra didn’t speak weigh her down like stones in her stomach, but she ignores them. She vows never to say them out loud, never to let them even cross her mind again.

It's just one of many promises that end up broken.

//

ii. / anger

Adora gets the Force Captain’s badge. 

Catra pounces on her friend as soon as she comes back from the meeting with Shadow Weaver, knocks her to the ground and jumps on top of her as she waits excitedly to hear what news Adora has to tell. 

It’s somewhere in between wondering what Shadow Weaver said and noticing the way Adora’s face reddens slightly as Catra straddles her that Catra notices the glint of metal against the white of Adora’s shirt. The shield-shaped badge is a light green, the darker emerald outline of Hordak’s seal unmistakable. 

Catra flicks a claw against it, hearing a faint note as the metal rings. She stares at Adora, her emotions jumbled.

“You did it,” Catra says, a beat later. “They made you Force Captain.” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Adora says, her proud smile mostly hidden for Catra’s sake but slipping out at the corners of her mouth. 

Catra feels a mixture of pride and jealousy and something else inside her, and she doesn’t like it - mostly doesn’t like it - so she swipes the badge right off the front of Adora’s shirt and runs away, bounding down the corridor and laughing as Adora chases her.

Adora being made Force Captain is a good thing. That’s what Catra tells herself, anyway. This is the first step on the road to being first in command. Someday, someday _soon_ , they’ll be calling the shots together. Ruling Etheria together, just like they always dreamed of, just like they planned out in whispers every night, lying in bed together while the rest of the cadets slept. 

And yet there’s something about Adora being named Force Captain instead of her that makes Catra feel something sour and green.

But she ignores the feeling, because she’s not that shitty a friend. (Not yet.)

They steal a skiff to celebrate and drive off, away from the Fright Zone, flying over rocks and sand and rivers to the Whispering Woods. Adora stands at the back of the skiff, one hand braced against the tiller, head tipped to the side, badge shiny on her chest. Catra sits at the front and glances back at her, and just for a moment, lets herself wonder what it would be like if they were leaving the Fright Zone for good. 

And then she shakes the thought. She’s not a deserter. Not a quitter. 

“Come on,” Catra says, fangs bared around a smile. “Let’s get there a little faster.” She jumps to Adora’s side in one fluid motion, stretches her hand out to take the tiller, pushes it to the right as Adora presses the gas pedal. The skiff speeds up, and Adora turns to her, smiling. 

Catra fits at Adora’s side like they’re two pieces of the same puzzle. Adora’s hair glows golden in the sunlight, and Catra feels it again - that same warm comfort smoldering in her chest, the painless buzz of lightning in her veins - 

She shakes her head and lets it go. 

They end up crashing against the trunk of an ancient tree, and Catra can hear the woods whispering all around her. She pulls Adora back into the skiff and sets a course back to the Fright Zone.

She brings Adora home then, but she can’t do it when it really counts. 

Adora goes missing the next day, sneaks out of the bunkroom after asking Catra to cover for her. Catra lets her leave, feeling a small but definite claw of panic cutting into her. Knows that Adora will come back again. Doesn’t know why she’s so worried right now.

Adora doesn’t come back. 

Catra is sent after her. 

Shadow Weaver lets her drive a tank out of the Fright Zone all the way to Thaymor, sends her off with two instructions: crush the rebel insurrection in that town, and bring Adora back. 

Catra knows which order is more important to her. 

The tank is big and strong, ripping up everything in its path as it crashes through Etheria, and Catra sits behind the wheel with one leg propped on the dashboard, feeling powerful for what might be the first time in her life. 

It’s a taste of the future, she thinks. 

Thaymor is a small village, all woven huts and brightly painted houses. Catra doesn’t see any signs of rebel activity, but it doesn’t matter. She was given orders.

She plows through the settlement, fires at will. The explosions shake the ground, but they can’t reach Catra, sitting safely inside the monster of a machine. 

She finds Adora in the middle of what’s now a wasteland in miniature, a patch of grey, rocky ground pushed flat by the treads of the tank. She springs out the top of the vehicle, excited to show Adora what she’s done. Excited to be the one with something to tell, for once. 

“Adora,” Catra says gleefully, grabbing Adora’s shoulders. “Can you believe this? They let me drive a tank. A tank!”

Adora’s quiet and Catra looks her over more carefully, notices the grim expression on her friend’s face. There’s ash smeared across her cheek and a pink flower tucked into her hair, and Catra can’t decide which is more disconcerting.

“What are you wearing?” she asks. 

Adora looks down at herself like she’s just remembered that she’s here, and pulls the flower from her hair, letting it fall to the ground. “Oh. Long story. I was just - ” 

“Well, come on, then,” Catra says, clutching at her arm. “Let’s go back. Wait till you ride in this thing.”

There’s a pause, and then Adora shakes her head. “Catra, I’m not going back.”

Those five words hit Catra like a bucket of ice water, sending pure fear shooting straight through her. “What? What do you mean?”

“I can’t go back,” Adora insists. “Not after what I’ve seen today. The Horde’s been lying to us, manipulating us, using us…”

Catra stares at her in shock. Adora’s mouth is set in a firm line, and Catra knows all too well that nothing will change her mind when she looks like this, but she has to try anyway.

“Well, duh,” Catra snaps. “You’re only just now figuring this out? It doesn’t matter, Adora. Soon enough we’ll take over from Shadow Weaver and Hordak, and then we’ll be the ones calling the shots. So can we please just go home?”

“No,” Adora repeats. “I’m not going.”

Catra wants to run, wants to hide, wants to knock Adora unconscious and drag her back to the Fright Zone if that’s what it takes. Yet her feet remain rooted to the earth, and she can’t move.

“Come with me,” Adora says, taking Catra’s hand. “You don’t have to go back there. We can fix this!” 

For a heartbeat, Catra is tempted. Adora’s words hang in the air between them, ringing with promise. A new future. A brighter light.

“Are you kidding me?” Catra spits out, the words scraping against the inside of her throat. She rips her hand away from Adora’s, her fear turning to anger now. “You’ve known these people for what, a couple of hours? And now you’re throwing away everything to join them?”

“I can’t go back,” Adora says. “But Catra - you could come with me.”

“Why can’t you just stay?” 

“There’s nothing left for me in the Fright Zone,” Adora says. 

Catra thinks it would be less painful if Adora had stabbed her.

_What about me? Can’t you stay for me?_

_I need you._

_I love -_

(On the tip of her tongue, burning her throat - )

“Then leave,” Catra says, letting the words come out knife sharp, slicing through the air. “Just go.” 

She turns her back on Adora, leaves her once-best friend standing in the ashes of a ruined town with a crushed flower in the dirt next to her boots. 

As Catra drives the tank back to the Fright Zone, she feels more powerless than she ever has before.

Hordak gives her a shiny new badge and Adora’s position as Force Captain, and Catra is shocked at how meaningless it seems now.

//

iii. / bargaining 

Catra is sent to the Crimson Waste. 

Hordak says it’s because they need to find the First Ones tech at the center of the desert. Catra knows it’s because he wants to sentence her to death.

But she goes anyway, because she has no other choice. She takes Scorpia with her, and the two of them make their way through miles of sand and heat and sun. There’s patches of quicksand everywhere, dragging things down into the earth at the slightest touch. Scorpia keeps them safe by testing the ground with her claws before every step.

Catra doesn’t worry about it too much. She doesn’t need to step in quicksand to know what it feels like to be slowly sinking down, farther and farther, until there’s nothing left of her.

Eventually, they reach a building. Turns out the Crimson Waste isn’t as uninhabited as everyone thinks. 

The locals try to intimidate her, and Catra intimidates them right back. She jumps on top of the bar and threatens the leader of the ragtag band of criminals, and she wins. She wins because she’s not afraid of anything anymore. (Almost anything.) 

Fear is for those who have something to lose. 

Catra pulls a black jacket off of the fish-headed creature at the end of the bar and slings it around her own shoulders. She straightens the collar and grins, relishes the simple pleasure of being able to take what she wants. 

She brings two people with her on the search for the First Ones tech - a woman with the head of a goat and a blowpipe full of tranquilizer darts, and a green beast with spikes down his back. Scorpia walks in the lead with her, leaving the two Crimson Waste inhabitants to slog it out behind them.

There’s a rival gang leader following them. Catra doesn’t care. 

When she finds out that the guy’s name is Tung Lashor, she doesn’t even have to fake her derisive laughter. She challenges him to a fight, because she has nothing and no one left to lose. 

Tung Lashor is quick and strong, and he wields a whip with practiced ease, but Catra doesn’t much care if she survives this fight or not, so she’s got the advantage. 

She tricks Tung Lashor into losing, pushes him into the quicksand and lets him disappear. She takes his whip and coils it at her belt, hangs it up like she owns it now, because she does. The crowds of Crimson Waste scum cheer for her, chant her name and let it ring of victory, and Catra smiles. 

A new jacket. A new whip. A new crew of people just waiting on her orders. 

One day in the Crimson Waste has gotten Catra more than the Horde has ever given her.

(Adora is the only good thing that’s ever come from the Fright Zone. And she’s not Catra’s anymore.)

Catra’s got over a hundred people shouting her name in victorious ecstasy right now, so she pushes the thought of Adora right out of her mind and lets herself bask in the addictive glow of praise. She’s here now. Adora’s not. 

Later that day, when Catra mentions going back to the Fright Zone, Scorpia asks if she wants to stay. 

“What?” Catra asks, confused. “Why would we stay?”

“Well, look around you,” Scorpia says. “We’ve got the locals on our side now. They love us. They love _you_. We could rule this place, just you and I, and never go back to the Horde.” She pauses for a moment, and her voice softens. “This is the first time I’ve seen you this happy. Scratch that, this is the first time I’ve seen you happy at all. We could do so well here, Catra.” 

Catra turns her face towards the horizon, awash with the bright colors of sunset, and wonders if it’s true. If she could really do so well in a place of criminals and liars, where the sands swallow the careless and the sun burns the luckless and the Force Captain badge pinned to her chest is worthless. 

She thinks that she should at least give herself the chance. 

So they stay for the night, and the night after that, and then everything is ruined.

Once again, it’s because of Adora.

Adora shows up in the Waste the next day, trekking through the wasteland with her new friends at her side. Catra watches them from a distance. Adora walks lightly over the sand, as if she’s barely touching its surface. Her friends shine brightly, like the sun reflecting off metal. Catra almost has to shield her eyes. 

Glimmer, the short sparkly one. Bow, the tall strong one. They stand at Adora’s side the way Catra once did. 

They’re the people who replaced Catra. 

Catra watches as the three of them disappear over a nearby hill, bites her lip against the wave of anger and hurt and jealousy cresting in her heart. Tries not to stare at Adora’s footsteps in the sand. 

It’s not the first time she’s seen Adora since Thaymor - they’ve fought each other a dozen times since then - but somehow this is the time that hurts most. 

Catra drops down from the rock she was sitting on, grabs Scorpia by the collar, pulls their faces close together. Scorpia’s eyes go wide in shock and a little bit of fear, and Catra is reassured that at least she’s still in control here. 

“We _are_ going back,” she grits out. Scorpia just nods.

They catch up to Adora and her friends, finding them in the shadow of a giant ship that has to be the First Ones tech Catra was sent to look for in the first place. Catra puts Glimmer and Bow down with two darts from her new blowpipe, and waits a moment longer before shooting Adora, too. 

One whistle from Catra and her new crew surrounds the rebels, ties them up in what seems like miles of rope. Catra picks up Adora’s sword and stares at its keen edge, something in her mouth tasting bitter.

This sword is the reason that Adora left her. 

She wants to break it, to burn it, to melt it down and pour the molten metal across the sands of the desert. 

But if she can’t do that, the next best thing is keeping it away from Adora.

Catra hops onto the chair in the middle of the ship and sprawls across it like it’s a throne, legs thrown casually over the armrests, sword balanced in her lap. It’s a pose that conveys much more bravado than she’s actually feeling. 

Adora is across the room from her, bound and still unconscious, and the noise of the Crimson Waste crowd is starting to give Catra a headache. She orders everyone out of the ship, even Scorpia, snapping at the clawed girl when she hesitates. 

“Just get out of my face,” Catra growls. Scorpia turns away, and Catra can see that the corners of her mouth are downturned, but she doesn’t have room to feel bad about that now.

When the ship is finally empty, Catra drops down off the chair and walks over to Adora. She takes a moment to really look at her old friend for the first time since Thaymor.

Adora’s eyes are closed, but Catra knows they’ll be the same blueish grey as always. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail, the front still sticking up in a poof that Catra’s always mocked but secretly held dear. Even when she’s not conscious, Adora’s expression is still one of determination. 

The righteous one, to the end. 

Catra feels something that feels uncomfortably like _longing_ pushing against the inside of her chest. Before she can stop herself, she reaches out and traces the edge of Adora’s jaw, pushes a loose strand of hair behind Adora’s ear.

Just for this moment, she lets herself want. 

And then the longing passes and the anger is back, hot and uncomfortable, rippling under her skin. She inhales sharply. 

Adora is right here in front of her, as defenseless as she’ll ever be, and Catra’s still got the sword in her hands, and -

And Catra could never do it. 

She’s hurt Adora before, dozens of times, each worse than the last. But right here, right now, facing the best chance that she’ll ever have to take her out for good, Catra knows she can’t. It’s the kind of weakness that years of abuse from Shadow Weaver still haven’t managed to beat out of her. 

Adora has always been her weakness.

Adora’s eyelashes flutter and then her eyes fly open, stormy grey and piercing. Accusatory. Catra involuntarily takes a step back. 

“Catra,” Adora says. “Where am I?” She glances at the bodies of her friends, still unconscious and slumped across each other, and panic flickers across her expression. “What did you do to them?”

“Nothing fatal,” Catra says, stretching the sword out and using it to tip Adora’s chin up. “Yet.” 

Adora’s gaze meets hers, angry and defiant. Defenseless, but not vulnerable. Catra holds back a shiver. 

“We’re bringing you back to the Fright Zone,” Catra says, with a smirk that’s not as arrogant as she wants it to be.

“Catra,” Adora says, and Catra hates how her name sounds in Adora’s mouth - hates it, loves it, wants her to say it again, never wants to hear it again - “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Catra replies, running a claw along the edge of the sword. 

“It’s not too late,” Adora says. “You can still fix this.”

Catra scoffs. As if it could ever be that simple. “I can’t.” 

_I can’t fix it. I can’t fix anything. I can’t fix myself._

“You can, Catra.” Adora says firmly. Still not giving up on her, in spite of everything. “Please, just try.” 

_I can’t stop loving you._

Adora waits for Catra’s answer, a spark of hope in her eyes, and Catra almost wants to give in. 

_I love -_

(On the tip of her tongue, burning her throat - )

“I know I can,” Catra says angrily, not believing her own words, watching as Adora’s face falls. “I just don’t want to.” 

She calls Scorpia back into the ship to arrange prisoner transport, and pretends not to feel Adora’s gaze burning into her back.

They fly back to the Fright Zone in a skiff, and Catra is reminded of the last time she was here with Adora - standing in the back of a skiff, hair blowing in the wind, the future waiting for them on the horizon.

The horizon seems empty to Catra now. Even though Adora is the one in ropes, Catra feels like the one being held prisoner.

She feels like the world has no room for her.

//

iv. / depression

Everything is perfect. 

Catra doesn’t know exactly when it happened, doesn’t know exactly _how_ it happened, but Adora is with her again. They’re sitting on the rooftop of the Fright Zone, Catra’s favorite place in the world that’s not by Adora’s side, and Catra is happy. 

It’s always been this way, hasn’t it? She can’t quite remember now. 

“Hey, let’s go get dinner,” she says, looping her tail around Adora’s wrist like she always does. “They have the grey ration bars tonight. Your favorite.”

“My favorite?” Adora asks, as if she’s in a dream. Catra frowns. 

“Uh, hello? Etheria to Adora? The grey ones have always been your favorite. But if they’re not anymore, I’ll totally take your portion.” Catra grins, flicks Adora with the tip of her tail.

Adora’s expression clears. “You’ll have to beat me to the dining hall if you want to take my food,” she says, and sprints towards the door. Catra bounds after her happily, knowing that Adora will probably end up sharing her food anyways. She always does.

They sit at a table with Lonnie and Kyle and Rogelio, throwing jokes and food back and forth, and Adora is right there in the middle of it all. Catra sits and watches her tease Kyle, and feels a kind of warmth curling up inside her chest. It’s as if she hasn’t seen Adora this way in a long time.

(Has she?)

Something sharp grazes Catra’s mind - the edge of a thought, or maybe a memory - 

“Catch,” Lonnie shrieks, and throws part of a ration bar at her. Catra ducks to avoid it, and just like that, the sharp thing in her mind is gone. 

Adora throws her head back, laughing, and Catra would willingly take another ration bar to the head if it meant seeing that laugh again.

This moment seems golden, and life seems good, and everything is perfect. 

Everything is - 

Something is -

Something is wrong with Adora.

It starts the next morning. They’re sitting in a briefing meeting, watching as one of the Force Captains goes over strategies for the Horde’s next attack on the rebellion, and then Adora interrupts the proceedings. 

That’s something that’s never happened before - Adora has always been the perfect soldier, the model of discipline. Catra’s never seen her break rank or defy orders before. She can’t even enjoy seeing Adora’s rare moment of incompetence, though, because she’s so concerned.

Adora presses her hands to the side of her head, bending over like she’s in agony. Catra jumps to her side in one quick movement, rests a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Catra asks anxiously. “Adora? Can you hear me?”

“I’m - ” Adora shakes her head, screws up her face in an expression of confused pain. “I’m okay, I think. Something’s happening - something with my head.”

Catra almost thinks that sounds like something she’s felt too - it’s almost familiar, almost resonant - but she brushes it off.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she says to Adora. “Let’s get you out of here.” She tugs Adora to her feet, leads her out of the room without sparing a glance at the briefing Captain. There’ll probably be hell to pay for that later, but screw it. Catra’s never been big on orders, anyways.

Adora walks down the corridor like her boots are filled with stones, leaning against Catra for support. Catra rolls her eyes, but she can’t help enjoying the contact. 

“Do you want to stop at the med bay?” she asks. “We could find you something for that headache, or maybe they’d know what’s going on with you.”

“No,” Adora says. “No, I’m fine.” She looks down at a piece of paper from the briefing session, still clutched in her hands. The paper is blank, but Adora stares at it like it contains a message meant for her.

“Come to the bunkroom with me,” Catra says. “You just need to sleep this off. It’ll be better in the morning.”

It’s worse in the morning. 

Adora walks around with her head in the clouds, running into things, scrambling her sentences, sometimes staring vacantly and then asking Catra to repeat what she just said. Catra’s so worried that she starts going everywhere with Adora, not letting her out of her sight for more than a moment. 

“Everything is perfect,” Catra keeps telling her, begging her to believe it. She says it over and over, like it’s a mantra. Something about it doesn't seem right - it’s almost like Catra’s not in control of her mouth - but she keeps saying it anyways.

Because everything is perfect. She’s got Adora - 

She’s got Adora back. 

(Back from where, Catra doesn’t know. Just like that, the thought is gone again.)

Deep down somewhere in Catra’s mind, there’s the feeling that this is all wrong, that none of this is supposed to be happening, but she pushes it away. Things are too good for her to go and mess it up with unnecessary worrying about a vague feeling. 

But Adora is still acting strangely. She starts talking about a light, a sword, the Whispering Woods.

“What are you talking about?” Catra asks, a little impatiently, as they walk down the northwest corridor for the fifth time that day. “Adora, what - ” 

Adora opens her mouth to reply and suddenly there’s a light shining on them, purple around the edges, and the world is too bright to see. Catra squints her eyes shut, and when she opens them again, they’re standing in the Whispering Woods with a void of light stretching out behind them.

“Catra,” Adora yells. “I remember now. The portal. The portal is doing this. We have to fix it.”

The words ring a bell somewhere, but Catra is still confused. “What’s happening?”

“We have to make things right,” Adora says. “Catra, come with me.” She extends her hand and Catra hesitates for just a moment, and suddenly the light is swallowing her. The world starts falling away around her, and she’s fading, fading, fading - 

A bright light, a white glare - 

And then she’s somewhere else, standing inside a tall room with red tiles on the floor, and she remembers everything.

The sword. The portal. Opening the portal while Adora screamed for her to wait, to stop, to _just listen Catra, you have to listen._

The ceiling starts cracking, and Catra looks up to see that horrible white light descending onto them.

The perfect world with Adora was all fake, and that realization sends a stab of pain lancing through Catra’s chest. She doesn’t have Adora. She doesn’t have anything.

Now the real world is ending, and it’s all because of her.

“Catra!” 

Adora’s voice again. 

Catra turns and there she is, strands of golden hair blowing around wildly, her jacket dirty and ripped. “The portal. You’re the one who opened the portal, aren’t you?”

“None of this is because of me,” Catra says, the deflections and denial springing to her lips as naturally as breathing. She wants Adora to hurt, wants to get in one last chance at destroying her one-time friend the way she destroyed Catra. “The world is falling apart and your friends will die, and it is all your fault.”

(It’s not fair and it’s not true, but Catra has spent her entire life taking the blame for Adora, so turning the tables for once is nothing short of poetic justice.)

They’re standing close enough that Catra can see Adora’s eyes flickering with pain, and then something else. Something sharper.

Anger.

“It’s not my fault,” Adora bites out, kicking Catra backwards. Catra lands in a crouch, one side of her face burning, her right arm feeling numb. She looks down to see her skin turning black, fading into the light of the portal.

“You made your choice!” Adora shouts. “Now live with it!”

And that’s the thing. Catra doesn’t _want_ to live with it. Doesn’t want to live, period. There’s nothing and no one left for her in this world.

She forces a laugh out of her throat, bares her fangs at Adora. 

“Why did you open the portal?” Adora asks, her voice loud and harsh in a way that Catra's never heard before. “You knew what it would do. Why?”

_I don’t know how to live without you._

_I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t have you._

Catra’s falling backwards now, sliding towards the light. Adora doesn’t reach out to her.

_I love -_

(On the tip of her tongue, burning her throat - ) 

“Because I’d rather watch the world burn than let you win,” Catra spits, and it’s true in the worst, most painful way. Adora’s expression shifts to some emotion that Catra can’t read, and then there’s no Adora left at all. Catra is swallowed by the light of the portal, disappearing into it, and she’s not there anymore, not anywhere anymore. Not anyone, anymore. 

She’s okay with that, she thinks. She’s ready.

When she wakes up on the floor of Hordak’s lab, she’s disappointed. 

She looks around, every fiber of her body aching, the unmistakable pain of living rushing back into her. Wires hang from the ceiling, their frayed ends sparking faintly. The portal machine is a twisted mess of metal, the room abandoned. 

She’s truly alone.

Catra rips off her mask, lets it drop to the floor. She sinks to her knees on the cold metal of the floor and lets herself cry. 

//

v. / acceptance

Space is colder than Catra ever could have imagined.

Then again, maybe it’s just Horde Prime’s ship that makes it cold.

Catra sits on the edge of a window overlooking the starry expanse of space, tail twitching against the glass. She wraps her arms around herself, seeking warmth but finding none. 

She’s bargaining with Horde Prime. He’ll give her what she wants, as long as she gives him what he wants first. The Heart of Etheria will open. Adora will lose. 

It’s what Catra wants, so she can’t figure out why she feels cold and empty and hurt at the thought of it.

Another of Horde Prime’s clones rounds the corner, heading straight for her, its eyes glowing green. Catra’s ears twitch, and she leaps down from the window, bounds down the corridor with long jumps. The clones won’t stop following her, and every one of them has the face of someone Catra once feared.

It’s not that she’s scared now. Just unsettled. (That’s what she tells herself, anyways.)

Another clone looms ahead of her, tall and blank-faced. Catra stops short. 

“This part of the ship is off-limits to you, Catra,” the clone says, and Catra’s fur bristles. This clone is different from the others. They all look the same, it’s true, but something deep inside her recognizes this one.

She looks closer, tips her head to one side. 

“Hordak?” she asks, her voice questioning. The clone stares at her vacantly, but a hint of a frown appears on its face. 

“You should not give me a name,” it says, its voice the steady monotone of a being who lives only to serve its master.

“Man, it’s good to see you,” Catra continues. “Listen, the name thing can be our little secret, okay? It’s just - it’s just good to see a familiar face.” 

She almost can’t believe it. Talking to Hordak once would have sent chills of fear through her. Now, it’s the most reassuring experience she’s had in days. 

Hordak blinks twice, then seems to shiver. “This part of the ship is off-limits to you,” he repeats. “Little sister.” 

Catra’s face falls. “Yeah, yeah, got it,” she says, walking away. 

There’s something weighing her down; a tangible knot of emotions sinking through her chest. Catra feels like she’s cloaked in loneliness, an all-consuming sensation that’s cold and sharp, and something else. Something heavier.

Uncertainty. 

Catra gives her head a quick shake, heads for the familiar corridor near the control room. Her feet carry her silently along until she reaches the cell. She slides down, her back pressed against a barrier of green, her tail flicking back and forth against the cold white tiles.

“Back again, huh?” Glimmer’s voice says, slightly muffled by the wall in between them. Catra almost dissolves at the sound of it - annoying though the girl is, the familiarity of her voice is a comfort in itself. 

“Well, someone’s got to laugh at your captivity,” Catra says, the words coming out flat, no bite to them. 

She can sense Glimmer moving around, seating herself on the other side of the barrier with her back to Catra’s. They sit there, pressed against two sides of an impenetrable wall, each held captive in their own way.

Catra thinks that her own thoughts are almost more of a prison than Glimmer’s cell.

“It helps for me too,” Glimmer says quietly. “Having someone to talk to.” 

Catra wants to object, but she doesn’t have the energy to lie. She just sits there with Glimmer, against Horde Prime’s wishes, and for a moment, she doesn’t feel so alone.

She should have known better.

Horde Prime uses it against her. He threatens her, tells her to extract information from Glimmer. Catra refuses before he’s even finished with the order; she’s done doing others’ dirty work for them. Done, period. There’s nothing left in the world that can be used to influence her, she thinks.

And then Horde Prime drops the bomb.

“A First Ones ship is on its way here,” he says, green eyes glowing with malice as he taps the ship’s monitor. “Do you know anything about that?”

Catra stares at the tiny ship moving across the screen, stares so hard it’s as if she can see into it, but it’s not necessary. She already knows who’s on it. As her eyes trace the ship’s flight across the sky, her heart aches as if in confirmation. 

Adora’s on that ship, and she’s coming for Glimmer.

(Not for Catra. For Glimmer - )

Coming _here_. 

She’ll never make it out alive. 

Horde Prime sends Catra back to Glimmer’s cell, and Catra grabs the Brightmoon queen’s wrists almost hard enough to bruise. “Look at me,” she intones. “A First Ones ship is coming here. What do you know about it?”

Glimmer’s eyes fill with tears, and something like hope. “Adora. She’s got to be on it.” 

“Right,” Catra says, dropping the girl’s wrists and heading for the cell door. Glimmer drags her backwards.

“You can’t tell him,” she says. “You can’t do that to her!”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Catra scoffs. “I just have to sit back and let it happen.” 

“Do you really think that Prime will help you?” Glimmer asks angrily. “You think he won’t toss you aside as soon as you’re worthless to him?”

Catra does know that, but she can’t bring herself to care. That’s the story of her life, and this is just another chapter she already knows the end to. It’s nothing new. 

“Please, Catra,” Glimmer says. “Do one good thing in your life.”

And that hits home. Catra’s never done a good thing in her life, it’s true. Never even had a good thing in her life, except Adora. 

And if Adora comes here - 

Catra looks back at Glimmer, looks down at her, and nods. “Let’s do this, then.”

She fights her way through the corridors to the command room, Glimmer fighting right alongside her. Catra notes that she’s not a bad fighter, for a princess. 

When they reach the command room, Catra throws Glimmer across the room, pushes her into the column of green light that she knows will get her the hell out of here. Catra rushes to the console and starts pushing buttons.

“Catra?” Glimmer’s voice sounds confused, and a little frightened. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here,” Catra replies, her hands flying over the controls. Behind her, the clones are starting to pry apart the doors. Catra punches the commlink button. 

There’s a crackle of static, a burst of noise, and then Adora’s voice is ringing out over the speakers. “Hello?” 

God, her voice. It’s the first time in a long time that Catra has heard Adora speak to her without anger or fear laced behind the words. It does something to Catra, tears through her chest like a blade. Catra wants to sit there and listen to Adora all day, but she doesn’t have time. Already the clones are halfway into the room.

“Adora, listen to me,” she says, typing in the coordinates. “I’m sending Glimmer to you. I don’t know exactly where you are, but I can get her to your quadrant. You _have_ to be there to catch her.”

“Catra? What’s happening?” Adora sounds confused, but Catra doesn’t have time for that now. There’s a clone grabbing at her, two clones on her back. Catra lashes out, kicks them away, bruising herself against their solid surfaces. 

“There’s no time,” she yells into the commlink, pushing away another clone. “Just get there, okay? And Adora - ” Every muscle in Catra’s body tenses, aches. Her heart is fluttering, cutting itself to pieces against her ribs. “I’m sorry, for everything,” she yells, the words leaving her throat raw. 

She slides a hand against the panel and watches Glimmer disappear, and then the clones are on her, dozens of them, beating her into submission. Catra’s last conscious thought, even through the pain, is that she finally feels like she’s done something right with her life.

Catra will never be able to fully recall the hours that come next. It’s all a blur, flashes of chanting voices and green lights and a splintering, tearing sensation as something sharp is thrust into the back of her neck. There’s nothing - 

Green light - 

Nothing - 

Pain - 

Nothing - 

Adora. 

Catra’s vision clears for one moment, and Adora is there. Her face is bloody, and Catra glances down at her own hands, sees the blood dripping from her claws. She must have done it.

Adora is there in front of her. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

She came back.

“Adora?” Catra rasps. “You should have stayed away.” She can feel Prime’s control rattling inside of her like broken pieces, just waiting to take over again. She can’t let that happen to Adora. “Why did you come back? We both know I don’t matter.”

Adora presses a hand against Catra’s cheek, and it feels like heaven. “You matter to me,” she says, full of the steadfast determination that Catra knows as well as the sound of her own voice. Catra’s eyes slam shut, knowing Adora’s lying, wanting her to be telling the truth. 

More green flashes in her vision. Prime’s voice back in her head. Catra tries to fight it, but she can’t. 

She’s not aware of anything that happens after that. There’s just one moment, one tiny fragment of time, where Catra’s herself once again, tears pouring down her face. “I want to go home,” she says. 

“I’m going to take you home,” Adora says back. 

Catra stretches out a trembling hand. “Promise?” she asks, and she knows she has no right to expect anything from Adora, knows she doesn’t deserve it, but - 

“I promise,” Adora says, and then Catra’s gone again. 

Everything is green, and then everything is black. Somewhere in there is a flash of golden light, a warmth against the darkness that Catra senses rather than sees. 

She wakes up in Adora’s arms, and her whole body feels like it’s ripping itself apart, but Adora is there and that’s all Catra has ever wanted. 

“Hey, Adora,” she says weakly, and Adora gives her a watery smile. Catra is vaguely aware of other people around them, familiar shapes that might be Bow and Glimmer, but they may as well be a million miles away. Adora is her whole world right now.

On a certain level, Adora has always been her whole world. 

“Why did you save Glimmer?” Adora asks quietly. 

“To save you,” Catra murmurs, her eyelashes fluttering. She can feel sleep pulling her down, freeing her consciousness. “Because I - ” 

(On the tip of her tongue - ) 

“I - ” 

(Burning the back of her throat - ) 

Adora makes a shushing noise and smooths back Catra’s hair, and it’s only then that Catra realizes it’s shorter, hacked unevenly in a jagged line close to her skull. It’s harsh, but Adora’s touch is feather-light; a balm, a salve, a relief. A salvation.

Catra closes her eyes and lets herself slide down into the waiting darkness, hoping that Adora will be there when she wakes up. 

When her eyes open again, she’s lying on a narrow bed and Adora is sitting at her side. Catra allows herself a tiny smile - a small curl upwards at one corner of her mouth - and then goes back to sleep.

//

i. / recovery 

There’s a way to save the planet from Horde Prime’s control.

Shadow Weaver is leading them to a place where they’ll find the failsafe for the heart of Etheria. Adora walks in the back of the group with her, and Catra tries to push back the spike of fear that rushes through her chest. Even after all this time, there’s a battle of emotions inside Catra when it comes to Shadow Weaver - one half of her fearful, the other half seeking approval that never comes.

She shrinks away from Shadow Weaver, but a tiny part of Catra, the part that could never truly give up hope of acceptance, wants to run to the sorceress.

They go to Mystacor to find the failsafe. There’s a hidden chamber behind one of the giant statues lining Mystacor’s halls and they slide in behind it, through the concealed doorway.

The halls of the Mystacor stronghold are filled with tricks and traps, and Catra learns this the hard way when Adora disappears into a column of flame. 

Catra dives into the fire after her, snagging her claws into Adora’s jacket and dragging her backwards. She’s prepared for the burning, recognizes that it’s a small price to pay for Adora’s safety, but the pain doesn’t come.

“It’s an illusion,” Shadow Weaver declares. “Some of the fire is illusory, some is real. Step carefully.” 

Adora makes a light joke about Catra jumping into flames for her, and Catra brushes it off. She won’t admit it, denies everything, but she’d jump into another hundred fires if that’s what it took to keep Adora safe. As they make their way along the corridor, Adora is still hanging back with Shadow Weaver. Catra pauses as she rounds the corner ahead of them, twitches an ear back to listen. 

She can’t catch all the words, but the message is clear - she’s a distraction that Adora can’t allow herself to fall for. A waste of time that’s not good enough to even cross Adora’s mind. 

Catra presses herself against the wall and grits her teeth, because it’s been years but it’s still the same, all the same. Shadow Weaver pushing them apart, putting the blame on her, but the worst part is -

Catra almost believes it this time. After everything she’s done, maybe Shadow Weaver is telling the truth and Catra isn’t good enough for Adora.

There’s a sick feeling in Catra’s stomach, and she walks away, not wanting to listen anymore. She doesn’t hear Adora arguing with Shadow Weaver, doesn’t see her pull away when Shadow Weaver reaches for her.

Doesn’t see any of it.

The room with the failsafe has ceilings a hundred feet high and some kind of structure in the back that’s made of tall blue crystal columns. Adora tips her head back to look up at the blue stones, shining with an almost obscene brilliance, and Catra aches to pull her away, to run out of the room and go somewhere they’ll be safe.

Whatever the failsafe does, there’s no way anyone can safely bring it to the Heart of Etheria.

Adora’s got that stupid, determined look on her face, the righteous expression of self-sacrifice that Catra’s both loved and hated since they were kids, and Catra knows what she’s going to do.

“You can’t,” she says, grabbing Adora’s hand. 

Adora pulls her hand away, leaving Catra grasping at thin air. “I have to.”

“Someone else can do it,” Catra says, the words falling desperately. There’s a hot feeling of panic in her chest, filling her lungs. “Why does it always have to be you? When do you get to choose? What do _you_ want, Adora?”

Adora’s grey eyes look less stormy now, more like an overcast sky. She tips her head to the side, mouth slightly open, like the idea of getting a choice in life has never occurred to her.

 _Of course it hasn’t,_ Catra thinks bitterly. Neither of them have ever gotten enough choices in this life, and Catra has always made the wrong decisions, but Adora doesn’t have to. 

“Adora, please,” Catra says, her voice breaking a little. 

Adora pauses for a moment, then shakes her head. Catra is reminded of the first time she asked Adora to stay back at the battle of Thaymor, remembers the way Adora didn’t hesitate for even a second before refusing.

She’s hesitating now, but it’s still not enough.

As the doors of the chamber are blasted open by an explosion of black and purple flames, Adora steps into the center of the crystal columns. There’s a loud humming noise, and the tops of the columns start to glow a bright blue.

Catra and the others are under attack from some of Horde Prime’s chipped Etherians - Glimmer’s father, among others - but even as Catra is dragged down and wrapped in some kind of purple energy ropes, all she can think about is Adora. 

Adora, who’s getting the failsafe. Adora, who’s so stubborn and altruistic and kindhearted and _stupid_. 

Adora, who’s definitely going to sacrifice herself to save Etheria.

Catra doesn’t think she’s strong enough to watch Adora leave her again, especially not if it means she’s dying. Catra also doesn’t think she’s strong enough to go through life by Adora’s side again, not when she knows that Adora will never want her in the right way.

And so after they escape from Mystacor with tattered clothes and bruised skin and a glowing sequence of First Ones script glowing blue against Adora’s chest, beating in time with her heart, Catra leaves. 

“Catra,” Adora says, her tone pleading. “Please stay. I need you.”

“No you don’t,” Catra says, the words bleeding out of her, the truth stinging like a burn. “You never have.”

She turns her back on Adora, leaves her kneeling in the dirt alone. There’s no satisfaction that comes from leaving Adora the way she once left Catra; there’s just a bitter taste of unfulfilled hopes and ungranted wishes lingering in her mouth as she walks away. 

There’s nothing that will bring her back.

(There’s one thing that will bring her back.)

Catra is halfway through the Whispering Woods when the world starts falling apart around her. Her first thought isn’t about survival or damage control or self-preservation; it’s about Adora.

Catra turns and heads right back towards the rebels' cave.

Adora’s not there. Shadow Weaver is. 

Catra feels a familiar surge of fear at the sight of the sorceress, but she doesn’t have time for it. She shoves the fear down, demands to know where Adora is.

Shadow Weaver starts talking about Adora’s destiny as a hero, and Catra can’t listen to it. She pushes through Shadow Weaver’s words like they’re nothing, the way she wishes she could have done years ago, and wrestles the truth from her.

Adora is going to the Heart of Etheria.

The knowledge is like a sword to the heart, and Catra almost crumples on the spot. She doesn’t know if there’s a way to help Adora, but she has to try. 

Catra can’t let her do it alone. They’ve been on opposite sides of the war for too many years, been separated or divided in too many important moments. If there’s a way to save Adora, she’ll do whatever it takes. And if everything is going to end, she wants to die with Adora by her side. 

She wants one more day where it’s just the two of them against the world.

And so she screws up her courage and tells Shadow Weaver to do something good with her magic for once, asks her to help save Adora before it’s too late. It’s so similar to what Glimmer said to her on Prime’s ship, and the parallel makes Catra’s chest hurt in some way she can’t quite describe.

For the first time in her life, Shadow Weaver listens to her. 

They shadow-teleport into a corridor covered in First Ones writing. Shadow Weaver bends over coughing, but Catra ignores her. There’s a sickly green glow creeping up the walls and the floor, and that’s scarier than any problem Shadow Weaver has.

Prime’s virus. It’s going to take over the planet. Catra shuts her eyes against the flashbacks of green light and never-ending pain.

“Catra?” 

Bow. Glimmer. They’re standing in the tunnel, staring at her. Catra doesn’t have time for that, either. All she needs to know is that Adora is headed to the Heart.

“I’ll find her,” Catra says, remembering a promise made long ago in a dusty storeroom. Time to make good on it for once. 

Glimmer and Bow fold her into a hug. It takes Catra by surprise, so much so that she doesn’t pull away for a moment. 

And then she’s off and running down the corridor, Shadow Weaver hot on her heels. They emerge in a giant chamber filled with some kind of green monster - all tentacles and razor sharp teeth - and yet Adora is the only thing Catra has eyes for.

She’s slumped against a wall, blonde hair matted with sweat, something green dripping from a slash in her side. Shadow Weaver rushes to her side, and Catra turns her attention to the monster.

“Get Adora to the Heart,” she calls to Shadow Weaver. “I’ll take care of this thing.” 

Adora’s protesting, telling her it’s too dangerous, but Catra isn’t listening now. She’s messed up so many times in her life, done so many things wrong, but this is something she can do right. 

“I’ll catch up,” she promises Adora, only half believing it. She takes in one last image of Adora - tired, hurt, covered in green scratches but still golden and still beautiful - and then turns back and faces the monster.

There’s no fear in Catra now. Not for herself, anyway. 

But the monster is stronger than she is, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s wrapped in one of the tentacles, dangling above the monster’s mouth, when a hologram of Prime appears and taunts her in her final moments.

“Tell me, little sister,” he sneers. “Was it worth it?”

Catra closes her eyes, hot tears stinging her face, and knows that it was. It will always be worth it to protect Adora.

She’s ready, she thinks. If she’s going to die now, at least she made things right with Adora first.

But she doesn’t die.

There’s a burst of purple and black light, a swarm of shadowy energy, and Catra is free again. She drops to the floor, stunned, uncomprehending, and sees Shadow Weaver standing between her and the monster.

Protecting her, the way Catra always wished she would.

Shadow Weaver shuts her behind a barrier of purple magic, and Catra watches helplessly as the sorceress sacrifices herself for them. 

Right before she goes, Shadow Weaver tells Catra that she’s proud of her.

It’s something that Catra’s wanted to hear her whole life, and she cries out in agony as Shadow Weaver and the monster disappear in a cloud of shadow magic. There’s no words in any language to describe the complicated mess of emotions rushing through her chest. Tears stream down her face as the barrier in front of her dissolves, its magic dying along with its caster.

Then Adora’s there behind her, her skin glowing green along the edges of a dozen small wounds, her expression one of horrified shock.

Catra wraps her in a tight hug, conveying everything she doesn’t know how to say with a simple embrace, and then the two of them stagger away down the corridor, Adora leaning on Catra for support. 

The Heart of Etheria is bright and beautiful in an awful way, but Catra still only has eyes for Adora. She watches as Adora tries to transform and fails, and there’s a horrible feeling of dread shredding through Catra’s nerves. 

“What happens if you can’t transform? Will it not work?”

Adora tightens her jaw. “It’ll work.”

Catra knows her too well, knows that the hitch in her voice and the slight shakiness of her breath hint at a grim truth that Catra doesn’t want to hear, and Catra is afraid. 

She won’t leave Adora again, and she won’t lose Adora again, so when Adora tells her to go - _you have to leave, it’s too dangerous -_ Catra refuses. 

“It’s okay,” Adora says, her expression sad but still brave. “I’m ready.”

Catra feels those two words sink into the bottom of her stomach like lead weights. She knows she has to let this happen, knows she can’t let this happen, knows - 

“No,” she says, grabbing Adora’s hands. “I’m not leaving. Whatever happens, I am staying with you.”

She’s not leaving. She’s never leaving again.

Adora slumps down onto the floor, the failsafe on her chest glowing and cracking and pulsing like a broken heart. Catra kneels there with her, cradling her body carefully. Adora’s eyes close and she thrashes around, and Catra can feel her slipping away.

Adora’s giving up, the way she’s never done before in her life. Not on anything. Not even on Catra.

The room around her dissolves and suddenly Catra is standing in an open doorway, reaching through a world of green for Adora’s hand. “Adora, please,” she yells. “You have to wake up!”

She can’t lose Adora again. Not now. Not ever.

“It’s too late,” Adora says, sounding more defeated than Catra’s ever heard her. “I’ve failed.” 

“No! No!” Desperation rushes through Catra’s voice, breaking it. “I’ve got you and I’m not letting go!” 

But Adora’s eyes are closing, and Catra’s running out of time. She needs something stronger. Something better.

“Don’t you get it?” Catra screams, and then the words are finally there, _finally,_ ripping out of her, falling off her tongue, burning through her throat. “I love you! I always have. So please, just this once, stay!”

Adora’s eyes open again, wide and grey and confused, and Catra feels a spark of hope lighting up in her chest. She reaches a little further, her arm aching, and Adora’s hand meets hers, their fingers lacing together. 

Then they’re back in the room, back in the Heart of Etheria, and Adora is awake, still lying in Catra’s arms, grey eyes watery but alive, _alive alive alive_. 

“You love me?” Adora asks breathlessly. Catra has to laugh.

“You’re such an idiot,” she replies, her voice cracking with emotion and relief. 

Adora smiles up at her, the curve of her lips familiar and comforting. Catra smiles back. 

“I love you too,” Adora says, and Catra feels something loosening in her chest, a warmth spreading through her veins, and then -

She kisses Adora, and it’s like saying _I love you_ all over again as the world dissolves into rainbow light around them.

Later, they’ll stand beneath a clear blue sky in a field full of flowers and sunlight and magic. Adora will press her forehead to Catra’s, and Catra will feel as light as a breeze in summer, unburdened in a way that she’s never been before. 

Later, they’ll find their way back to Bright Moon and fall asleep in the same bed for the first time in years. 

Right now, Catra loves and is loved, and for once, the world feels like it has room for her too.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thymewars)


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